


Eyes Down

by rhysgore



Series: fraternizing with the enemy (or: How Not to Date in College) [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, charles lee likes rob schneider movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His neck is curved gracefully, completing the arc of his spine, and Burr is definitely not staring when he notices the huge purplish-red hickey, just underneath Hamilton’s jaw.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>OR: Five times Aaron Burr won't admit he's curious about his roommate's sex life, and one time he learns way more than he ever wanted to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes Down

**Author's Note:**

> sort of a sequel to "ecstasy" but without porn. i promise Dick Stuff is coming (heh) but in the meantime...

**1.**

 

The first hint comes when Burr happens to see Hamilton in a low-cut t-shirt. It’s a bright Spring day, they’re casually studying outside on lawn outside of their dorm. Hamilton’s legs are folded, and he’s bent over a psych textbook, entire body taut with intensity. His neck is curved gracefully, completing the arc of his spine, and Burr is definitely  _ not _ staring when he notices the huge purplish-red hickey, just underneath Hamilton’s jaw.

He wasn’t staring before, but he certainly is now. Burr isn’t quite sure if he’s amused or horrified, but mostly he’s fascinated.

Hamilton must feel his eyes or something like that, because despite his rigid concentration on his work, within a minute he looks up, and frowns at Burr. “Uh… something wrong?”

Burr opens and shuts his mouth several times, before gesturing to his own neck. “You’ve got- you’ve got a…” He can’t say anything more. Hamilton stares at him for a second more. Then he slowly raises his hands to gingerly prod the mark.

“Oh. So I do. _ ”  _ Hamilton smiles dreamily, as if remembering something pleasant- and in this situation, there is a very short list of what said pleasant thing could possibly be. Slightly more horrified than he was a minute ago, Burr turns back to his work. All he can think is that whoever left a hickey both that high and that large must be a giant asshole.

 

**2.**

 

At four in the morning on a Friday, Hamilton tries to sneak back into his room, where Burr is sleeping.

“Tries” is the operative word. Burr has always been a light sleeper, and while he knows his levels of exhaustion can’t possibly compare with Hamilton’s (does the man sleep for more than three hours in a row, ever? Burr isn’t honestly sure), he’s still more than a little pissed that the few hours that are supposed to be a total relief from the trials and tribulations of the world for him have been cut into by his roommate’s less than subtle footsteps.

Hamilton freezes when Burr clicks his bedside lamp on. “Aaron. I was hoping you’d be sleeping,” he says, the tone of his voice reminding Burr of a teenager caught sneaking out by their parents.

“I was,” Burr replies, grumbling. He yawns blearily as Hamilton rids himself of his socks and shoes, and his pants, climbing into bed in boxer shorts and a thin white t-shirt. “Any chance you wanna talk about where you’ve been all night and why you’re just getting home now, or is it something that I will regret asking about?”

Climbing into bed, Hamilton pauses. “The latter,” he finally settles with, flashing Burr a lascivious grin. Burr wrinkles his nose in slight disgust before he reaches up to shut the light off again.

Still, despite his lack of eagerness to have anything to do with Hamilton’s probable sex life, Burr can’t help but wonder who Hamilton could be with until 4 a.m. and  _ not _ stay overnight with.

 

**3.**

 

Hamilton is famous for making bad decisions. Burr doesn't need to be told this- he was there the night Hamilton got arrested, and although he has been expressly forbidden from speaking of that incident under threat of death (or at the very least, threat of Hamilton talking his ear off about how it “wasn’t my fault goddamnit”), he still keeps Hamilton’s  _ reputation _ in mind whenever considering… essentially anything about the other man. 

So when Hamilton removes his shirt to sleep one night, Burr is naturally quite concerned about the rows of bruises going up and down his sides.

And look, it’s not like he likes Hamilton a great deal. They aren’t close friends, mostly due to Alexander’s tendency to be stubborn and argumentative, and Burr’s dislike of either of those traits in another human being. But as angry as he’s gotten with Hamilton in the past, whoever did  _ that  _ must have been a hell of a lot angrier.

“Alexander,” Burr starts, coughing slightly. Hamilton turns around to face him, shrugging the shirt he was wearing off his shoulders and onto the floor (Burr wrinkles his nose. What a slob).

“What?” He asks, and Burr deliberately slides his gaze down to Hamilton’s sides, raising a concerned eyebrow. “... Oh.” A light blush colors his cheeks.

“Alexander, is there something you want to-”

Hamilton laughs. “Aaron, it’s not- oh my  _ god.”  _ There’s something absurdly amusing to him about this entire situation, and Burr suddenly feels as if there’s a gigantic joke here that he’s not in on. It’s not a pleasant feeling. “I’m  _ fine,  _ don’t worry. It’s not like that. Well, it is sort of? But not in the way you’re thinking of, except where it is.”

“... Did you or did you not get into a fight?”

“Not technically?” Hamilton grins sheepishly, and suddenly Burr puts the pieces together.

His nose wrinkles slightly. There are things he needs to know, and the fact that his roommate is getting fucked rather vigorously is not on that list. And in any case, Burr feels like he’s missing something that Hamilton is laughing at him about, something that Hamilton is deliberately not telling him, and he has a niggling worry that whatever that  _ something  _ is, he’s inevitably going to end up suffering because of it.

He doesn’t push the issue, though. Instead, he finishes up his work for the night, goes to bed, and mostly forgets about the whole ordeal. He’s going to enjoy it not being his problem for as long as he possibly can.

 

**4.**

 

Every Friday night, Burr’s dorm floor puts on a movie in the common room. It’s a pleasant get-together for the most part- choices in film rotate around the floor, and with the exception of the two Rob Schneider films Burr has been forced to watch (courtesy of Charles Lee, three doors down, and dead to both him and Alexander. It’s something they’ve both agreed on and bonded over), he’s looked forwards to every one.

He’s sitting next to Hamilton on one of the big couches, and they’re halfway through “Home Alone 2: Lost in New York” (Burr has no idea who chose it. He isn’t sure he wants to know.) when Hamilton stands up, announces he has to go to the bathroom, and walks out. He’s been texting steadily for the last 15 minutes, attention laser-focused on that instead of the movie which is why it’s a bit of a surprise to Burr when he accidentally leaves his phone sitting on the couch.

Burr doesn’t pay it any attention, until it buzzes several times in quick succession, the brightness up so high that it’s actually distracting. Meaning to turn it off (or at least turn the brightness down), Burr picks up the device, and is immediately distracted by the texts displayed on the screen.

 

> (9:36 p.m.)  **shithead:** You look so good when I cum on your face but fuck, I wanna come on your chest too.
> 
> (9:37 p.m.)  **shithead:** Maybe give you a nice creampie. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? ;)
> 
> (9:37 p.m.)  **shithead:** Then I’ll leave you tied up and lick it all off  & watch you squirm under my tongue…

 

_ What the fuck,  _ Burr thinks, distantly, and drops the phone like it’s a particularly hot potato. He scoots away from it, almost clambering on top of the girl sitting on the other side of him before he remembers common courtesies, and as he’s desperately trying to forget what he’d just seen, he can feel spots of heat rising on his cheeks.

He tries to focus on the movie again, but it’s… difficult. And when a slightly irritated Hamilton plops back into the seat next to him and grumbles about leaving his phone behind, Burr tries his damndest not to look at him.

 

**5.**

 

There are lot of things Hamilton can ignore. A trashcan purposely placed on his bed is not one of them, or so Burr hopes.

For his part, Burr sits in his own bed, and waits for Hamilton to get back, working through some of his assigned reading as he does. After about half an hour, the door flies open with a loud “BANG”.

“What the hell is that?” Hamilton demands, almost immediately.

Not bothering to look up, Burr replies, “It’s a trashcan.” He can feel Hamilton’s glare on him, but he keeps his own eyes on “Crime and Punishment”.

“I know it’s a fucking trashcan, Aaron. My question is, what the absolute  _ shit _ is it doing on my bed?”

“It needs to be emptied, and I’m not dealing with your used condoms, Alexander.” Burr turns the page, and bites back the threads of jealousy that work their way up through him. It’s not that he’s envious of whoever Hamilton’s fucking (or whoever’s fucking Hamilton), but given that everyone he’s interested is either unavailable or  _ super  _ unavailable, Burr finds it a little… difficult to deal with.

Surprisingly, Hamilton doesn’t bluster at him or argue. He picks up the trashcan with naught but a withering glare, and hauls it angrily out of the room.

 

**+1.**

 

Burr gets out of Biology 101 on a beautiful, sunny Wednesday afternoon, and realizes he forgot the hard copy of his French essay. He curses quietly, knowing that he’s going to be on the later side, but damnit, he needs to turn that essay in, so he heads the opposite way across campus, back to his dormitory.

Before he even enters his dorm room, Burr can hear it. Loud knocking, dragging noises coming from the inside. Instantly, he’s angry.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he mutters, earning a strange look from a girl who’s passing by. Of course fucking Hamilton waited until he knew Burr was gone for 5 hours straight to move furniture around. The conniving bastard  _ knew  _ they’d have a fight about it and instead of allowing Burr to have his say, he’d snuck around about it.

They’d been arguing about dorm furniture for the last month, ever since Burr had brought in a mini-fridge and Hamilton had said, in no uncertain terms, that a machine like that would be allowed into their room over his dead body.

“Do you have any  _ idea  _ the kind of damage those things can do to the environment?” Hamilton had spat out, eyes wild. “Do you have no respect for our  _ planet,  _ Aaron? You disgust me.”

Eventually, Burr had been forced to leave the mini-fridge with a friend. But now…

“Alexander, you complete  _ ass,  _ I’ve got your fucking number,” Burr practically shouts as he bursts through the door. There’s a fire burning in his stomach, a fire of righteous anger and of justice about to be dispensed that goes cold the exact moment he sees Hamilton, naked, and straddling the person laying in his bed with his knees.

Hamilton swallows, and his hands fly up to cover himself. His face goes completely red as he chokes out, “Aaron. I didn’t expect you to be back until later.”

For his part, Burr is still too angry to be embarrassed, even if it turned out that Hamilton was having sex, and not moving their furniture around. He’s about to spit out something caustic and mean- possibly something disparaging about Hamilton’s parentage, that always cuts deep- when he notices who’s dick exactly Hamilton is currently riding.

Lying on the bed, bending backwards in order to properly see Burr at the doorway, is Thomas Jefferson. 

“Oh. Hi, Burr,” Jefferson says, as if he’s been surprised by Burr at the supermarket, rather than having just been caught fucking Burr’s roommate. His fingers are digging into Hamilton’s sides, perfectly overlapping the multitude of small bruises that Burr now realizes were originally left there by him. “You need something?”

There’s something mocking in the tone of Jefferson’s voice that Burr would hate more if he wasn’t stunned into speechlessness by everything that had transpired in the last minute or so, and if he wasn’t late to class. Pulling his eyes away from Hamilton and Jefferson through sheer force of will, Burr stumbles to his bedside table, rummaging through everything that he’s left there.

“I just… came for my French paper…” He mutters, feeling his face heat up rather violently. Within a minute he’s located the requisite paper, and is beating a hasty retreat, mumbling a goodbye to both Hamilton, who is completely silent, and to Jefferson, who shoots back an smarmy “See you later!” before he exits the room as quickly as he possibly can.

It’s not until he gets out of the building that Burr starts laughing, so hard that a huddle of nearby freshmen look at him with significant concern as he passes them.

Hamilton is fucking  _ Jefferson, _ of all people. Burr has had to sit through more rants from Hamilton about that man than practically anyone else, and although he himself dislikes Jefferson, Burr still sees the phrase “two-faced piss-for-brains rat bastard  _ dickhead”  _ as being somewhat excessive in the describing of him. And he’s definitely heard some of the barbs directed towards Hamilton that Jefferson has bandied about. The two  _ hate  _ each other- anyone who’s ever heard them speak for more than five minutes can attest to that.

There was absolutely no way in hell he was  _ ever  _ letting Hamilton live this down.

**Author's Note:**

> im still on tumblr @rhysgore [finger guns]


End file.
